


when you want to escape, say the word.

by sadbat



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forced Marriage, Kinda, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, but carl has a choice, carl and his sisterwives, could be slightly dub con, negan is fair sometimes, not a very appealing one, wife carl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-04-17 15:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadbat/pseuds/sadbat
Summary: After he kills two of his men, Negan gives Carl an ultimatum- become one of his wives, or get The Iron. To the good side of his face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from 'stop the world i wanna get off with you' by arctic monkeys.  
> hi, my first walking dead fic and of course i choose the trash ship. sorry but JDM has ruined me and carl's pretty face doesn't deserve this.  
> carl is 18 here  
> im not confident in either of their characterizations so pls be gentle.  
> i am also making a playlist for the fic if anyones interested!  
> leave me a kudos or comment if you found this even mildly entertaining!

“Damn! You are _adorable_. Did you pick that gun cause it looks cool? You totally did, right? Kid, I ain’t gonna lie- you scare the shit out of me,”

Carl’s index finger twitched on the trigger. Every word from Negan’s mouth made his blood boil. Each sentence dripping with condescension gave him another reason to just squeeze his goddamn finger and spray the man with bullets- to finally get vengeance for everyone that Negan had wasted with his disgusting, blood caked bat.

Carl eyed Lucille as Negan swung her around like some sick extension of his body, the barbed wire shiny with a congealed mess of shit that Carl didn’t even want to begin to think about.

It was tempting to just say fuck it and open fire- the random act of unrestrained violence would surely catch Negan by surprise. But looking out at the group that had gathered around the scene sobered him.

With both eyes, he was a good shot. With half of his vision gone, he was mediocre at best. His depth perception was abysmal enough that he couldn’t guarantee Negan would be the only person killed, if he even managed to hit the asshole in the first place. Carl wouldn’t put it past the bastard to duck behind somebody in the crowd and use them as a meat shield.

Contrary to popular belief, Carl did have some qualms about the ruthless slaughter of innocent people. If the saviors could even be classified as such. He was under no impression that the aftermath of his actions would result in anything but his immediate execution. This had been a suicide mission, from the very beginning.

Carl spared a glance to the ground below, where the two bodies that had flopped like ragdolls after being shredded by his bullets laid. It was only a matter of time before they sprung back up like a sick game of whack-a-mole. He wondered if Negan would even bother killing them a second time, or if he would chain them up like dogs outside with the others.

Negan’s shit-eating grin peeked around a shoulder.  
“Come on now, kid. Don’t tell me we’re getting all emotional after wasting a few goons now,” He was skulking around the crowd, weaving in and out of his loyal followers, slow and steady on his approach to the truck bed where Carl was perched.

“I know this ain’t your first rodeo, after all. The way you’re holding my fucking gun, seems like you’ve done your fair share of extermination. Hell, did you even fucking hit puberty before you started your journey to serial killer in the making?”

Carl frowned. “Nobody else has to die.”

“Well I sure as shit hope not! You keep mowing down my men like this and we’ll have some fucking problems, big guy.” Negan stood a few meters away, shouldered by a man and a woman with their own guns trained unwaveringly at Carl.

His shot wasn’t clear, there were still too many variables. What if he missed? What if Negan dove behind someone, and the moment Carl let a bullet fly he was turned into swiss cheese by every single person out there?

What if he didn’t miss? What if the consequences of his actions far exceeded his predictions? There wasn’t a guarantee that they would kill Carl. They could keep him here, torture him. They could enact their revenge by going after the people he loved. After his dad.  
Michonne.  
Judith.

Carl’s breath faltered at the thought, and in the split second that it took for his hand to tremble and lower his assault weapon a millimeter, Negan lunged forwards.

Carl hadn’t noticed that as he was internally preparing for the repercussions of killing Negan, the man was advancing on him at a snail’s pace. Negan took Carl’s moment of weakness as an opportunity to deliver a punishing blow to the boy’s arm with Lucille, the gun clattering to the pavement with a resounding thud.

Before he knew it Carl was facedown on the concrete, arm twisted behind his back, bandage rubbing in the dirt. He felt a knee dig into his tailbone, far too bony to belong to Negan.

“Although your attempt to wriggle free is a valiant one, just keep in mind I have a pistol sitting at the base of your skull.” The voice came from right next to his ear, gravelly but distinctly female.

“Now, Carl. You have put me in quite the fucking pickle here! You come into my sanctuary, kill my men, all for the possibility to execute me. I can’t very well let you off with a slap on the wrist, can I? No sir, I fucking cannot. What kind of example would I be to my people if I pulled that shit?” Negan bellowed.

Carl glowered up at him from his position on the ground. He could feel dust in his eye and tiny rocks making their way underneath his bandage, irritating his wound. From this angle, the most he could see were Negan’s filthy boots, inches from his nose. Lucille was dangling in his peripheral, a grizzly reminder that Carl’s brains could be on display in seconds.

“I’d like to believe I’m a pretty fucking reasonable guy, so let me be a goddamn saint and give you a choice here. A very lenient one if I may add. In lieu of chopping off that little arm of yours, or hell, merking you right here and now, I’ll give you some options. Option A: You can go back to your pitiful little group in Alexandria, a free man. Mind you, see my main man Dwight over here?”

Carl’s head was pulled back by his hair, a pained grunt escaping him. His gaze landed on the disfigured man standing next to Negan, half of his face and left ear seemingly melted off.

“You’ll be leaving with a gnarly reminder of our time here. And let me tell you, between that fucking socket, and your date with the iron, I can promise getting laid will not be in the cards for you, kid.”

Carl was sweating at the prospect of the rest of his face matching what he hid under bandages in shame every day.

“What’s option B?” He spat.

Negan motioned for the woman holding Carl to the ground to release him, and held out a hand towards the ground.

Carl stood without it, channeling every ounce of rage he had into glaring with his only eye.

“Option B, is quite the merciful deal if I do say so myself. You stay here, completely unharmed. No need to wrap up your whole fucking head along with that nasty face hole. I can’t have a goddamn freak show as a wife now can I?”

Carl searched Negan’s face for any sign that he was being fucked with. Any semblance that this was a completely unfunny fucking joke.

There was none.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> messed around with the time line a little i think! things will be canon divergent from now on. let me know your thoughts in a comment!

_I can't have a goddamn freak show as a wife now, can I?_

Carl was genuinely at a loss for words. He couldn't do much more than stand there and stare, completely bewildered. Had he heard him right? Surely he wasn't insinuating that option B was for Carl to join his _harem_ \- to live as some sort of kept-boy. 

"You're insane!" he spluttered.

Negan looked far too pleased. He lifted Lucille carefully, letting her rest under Carl's chin just so, lethal spikes barely tickling the vulnerable skin there. "There's no need to be hasty in your decision. Best to take a little tour of mi casa- I'm sure once you bear witness to the fucking atrocity that is getting your face sauteed off, there'll be no contest. Luckily for _us_ , some bastard decided to screw one of my wives and has an appointment with the Iron in a few minutes! What do you say, Carl, up for a field trip?"

Negan didn't give him time to answer, and instead ushered Carl under his wing and herded the boy through the throng of bodies. They walked in uncomfortable silence until Carl found himself amidst another crowd, listening to the most pompous asshat he'd ever met deliver a grandiose speech about rules and consequences. He then watched some poor bastard howl and thrash around as Negan thrust the scalding iron against his cheek. Carl couldn't tear his eyes from the brutal image. The skin sizzled and smoked, and Negan only released the pressure after the screams subsided and the man had passed out. 

The sound of a woman's muffled cries tore Carl's eyes away from the gruesome sight of flesh sticking to the iron like melted cheese, Negan pulling it away seemingly as slowly as possible. She was blonde in a black dress, flanked by a few of her sister wives, and evidently the one that had been caught sleeping with Two Face. 

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Negan simpered.

The man's unconscious body stayed unsurprisingly silent. 

Negan sauntered over to Carl and clapped him on the shoulder.  


"We pissing our pants yet?" he asked. 

Carl's lingering nausea had barely subsided, and all he could do was level Negan with what he hoped was a steely glare. For all he knew, he could have looked exactly how he felt. Sick to his stomach, and absolutely panic-stricken. The man, Mark, looked entirely worse for wear. His previously handsome face would now be forever mangled. Nobody would look at him the same, all they would see was his deformity. Carl knew that his eye, or lack thereof, could occasionally be overlooked- many people lived constructive and normal lives with eyepatches. 

But this. This was a mutilation he couldn't escape from. 

He tried to rationalize the alternative. He would be safe here at the sanctuary, albeit without his family, his friends. Surely this was just a form of humiliation, and Negan wouldn't expect him to actually behave like one of his wives. He'd probably shuck him off to some filthy job like he did with Daryl. He'd soon become merely an afterthought, a good story to laugh at. _Remember when I called Rick's son my wife for a while? Good fucking times!_

Carl had managed to sneak into the sanctuary, so who was to say he wouldn't be able to eventually find his way out again, and back to Alexandria? He'd just have to bide his time, wait for an opportunity to abscond, and this would all be a shitty memory in the long list of shitty things Negan had done. The crowd had slowly dispersed, Mark's slumped form removed from the piss soaked chair, his sobbing starcrossed lover shepherded off by the other women. There were only a few stragglers loitering, someone mopping up the mess, Carl, and Negan. 

"So, am I heating up the iron for round two? Or are you ready to fucking say 'I do'?" Negan looked far too satisfied by his rhyme. 

Carl studied the man's complacency- the glint in his dark eyes, his irritatingly smug smile and salt and pepper beard that was just bordering on being scraggly. The way his posture oozed confidence and nonchalance. 

Carl grit his teeth. "Fine." 

"Fine, you'll gladly take a steam facial? Or fine, you'll do me the honour of being my goddamn _wife?_ "

"Fine I'll fucking marry you!" Carl snapped.

Negan let out an obnoxious hooting sound. "Well, what the fuck are we waiting for, let's get hitched!"

\-- 

Carl had clearly misinterpreted the gravity of the situation. He had assumed that he would agree to be Negan's wife, and that would be that. Case closed, time to move on. Clearly, Negan thrived off of stripping Carl of every ounce of his dignity, because he insisted on having an honest to god ceremony.

Negan ushered the boy into a large room with instructions to change out of his ratty flannel and make himself presentable. The sight of folded clothes on the bed made Carl grind his teeth. The bastard must have assumed this is what Carl's decision would be. He cursed himself for being so weak, for caring so much about something as trivial as looks enough that he'd be willing to basically whore himself out to his father's arch nemesis. He took a moment to assess the room and noticed there were a few couches, tables and chairs set up, as well as four twin sized beds. It appeared to be where some of Negan's wives slept. There was a door that he assumed was an ensuite, and a small bar set up in the far corner. 

Carl b-lined it to the alcohol. 

"Fuck it." 

He poured himself two fingers of some amber liquid, tossed it back, and promptly began to cough and splutter. It tasted like battery acid, but after a few moments, it left him warm and lax. He spent a few minutes procrastinating getting changed by running his fingers over the upholstery of the couches and chairs, inspecting the books on shelves, and peering into the bathroom. It was clearly occupied by multiple women, with hair tools and toiletries strewed about. He let out a long-suffering sigh and approached the pile of clothes again, an irrational part of him fearing that he would find a matching black dress like all of the others wore. Considering who he was about to 'marry', he wasn't sure if he was even _being_ irrational.

Luckily he only found a black v-neck and matching pair of lounge pants. He counted his lucky stars there would be no cross-dressing. For today at least. Sparing a precautionary glance at the door, Carl changed efficiently and begrudgingly headed to the bathroom again to glance in the mirror. He didn't like doing that too much these days. The shirt was a little snug around his shoulders, but other than that everything fit pretty well, including the black briefs that had made his ears heat up in embarrassment. There was dirt smudged on his face from being shoved to the ground earlier, which he contemplated leaving just to be an ass. He decided against it, as his childishness would probably not be appreciated by Negan. He rinsed his face quickly and forwent attempting any sort of finessing of his hair. Not wishing to look at himself any longer, Carl exited the bathroom and took a seat on one of the plush loveseats, awaiting his next instructions. 

Would Negan come fetch him? Or did he believe in the notion it was bad luck to see his bride before the wedding? He didn't have to ponder it too long; moments later there was a knock on the door.

He cleared his throat. "Come in."

The sight of Dwight's disfigured face only startled him for a second, and then he was being guided out of the room and through a maze of hallways. 

They arrived at their destination, and Dwight knocked on the door in an uneven pattern. Negan's enthusiastic voice muffled by the wood, boomed from inside. 

"You may enter!"

Carl tried to reign in his distaste as he entered the room, schooling his features into a neutral mask. Negan was like a ticking fucking time bomb, and Carl didn't want to give him a reason to explode and decide he didn't so much mind a disfigured wife after all. The man in question was leaning against a window and smoking a cigarette. He was wearing his signature leather jacket and white t-shirt. Why the fuck did Carl have to change?

"Because, my blushing bride, you looked like microwaved shit in that ratty outfit. Had to spruce you up a bit, give me some eye candy." 

Shit. Did he say that out loud? The alcohol must've loosened Carl up a little more than he thought.

Negan let out a whistle, and Carl tried not to make too much of a stank face as he was looked up and down. 

"Nice," Negan said simply. 

"Can we get this over with?" Carl sighed. He was getting a little too tired to hold back his snarky comments any longer. He figured if Negan _really_ wanted to horribly maim him, he would've done it by now.

"Sure fucking thing, sweet pea." Negan stubbed out his cigarette on the window sill and motioned Carl and Dwight over to where he stood. Dwight positioned Carl across from Negan with a tight-lipped grin, like he was holding back laughter. 

Carl glared. 

"We are gathered here today to join this man and this... Man, in holy matrimony." he began, reading from a scrap of lined paper. 

Negan looked aggravatingly earnest.

"Negan, do you take this man to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?" 

Negan bared his teeth in a grin. "I do."

"Carl, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?" 

Carl rolled his eye and muttered, "I guess."

He avoided Negan's gaze and instead focused on an odd hissing noise coming from behind one of the room's doors. 

"Good enough," Dwight said. 

"Joey, the ring!" Negan singsonged. 

Carl's brow furrowed. He hadn't seen rings on any of the other wives, and Negan wasn't wearing one either. He watched as a door opened to his left, and out walked Joey. He held a short metal pole and a fucking blowtorch. 

"What the fuck?" Carl asked. 

Negan took the metal rod from Joey, and Carl realized that this is where the hissing noise came from. Negan held the torch against the end of the metal rod, which he noticed was fashioned into a sort of semi-circle. It was glowing red. 

"Now Carl, this deal was pretty fucking sweet. As much as I'd like to let you off scot-free, as I mentioned earlier- we have rules for a reason. There's gotta be _some_ punishment. You did savagely kill my men after all. Now, this is just to show you how very fucking serious I am, in case you had your doubts."

Carl was very lost, and his breathing very shallow. Where the fuck was that burning metal rod _going?_

Dwight relayed a passage for Negan to repeat. 

"I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love." 

Carl balked as Negan grasped his left wrist in a crushing grip, and swiftly squished the blazing red end of the poker against his ring finger. Carl barely had a chance to cry out in agony at the sweltering, fiery hot scorch of metal sinking into his flesh before Dwight spoke again.

"You may now kiss the bride."

He had only a brief moment of relief as the ring was peeled away, before he was being hauled in by the back of his neck. Carl squeezed his eyes shut, and then another sort of heat was being pressed against his open mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment! i love knowing your thoughts, criticism, or suggestions!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> carl has some quality bonding time with his sisterwives. its 4 am so im sorry if this turns out to be actual hot garbage. no beta so all mistakes are mine! as always, let me know what you think because you guys are so good to me!

Carl's first instinct was to bite. To snap his teeth closed around the parts of Negan that were in his mouth and bite until hot, thick blood sprayed everywhere. He imagined it very clearly; the look of utter shock on the man's usually smug face as he stumbled back. The vicious stump where his tongue used to be. Carl wanted to see Negan's handsome face dripping with red.  
He didn't do it.

He squeezed his eyes closed so hard he saw stars, and was rigid while Negan sealed their union. The kiss only lasted a few moments but when he pulled away, spit connecting their mouths obscenely, Carl's lips wouldn't stop prickling with the aftermath of Negan. It was nothing like it was with Enid. For starters, there were no beards involved. Enid obviously didn't have one, and unfortunately for Carl, puberty hadn't blessed him with much in the body or facial hair department. His chin felt slightly raw from the salt and pepper bristles. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable in a way he'd never felt before.

Enid was timid like she didn't want to scare Carl away, and in their haste and clumsy teenage exploration, they usually clacked teeth or bumped noses. Negan kissed Carl with the kind of confidence that signified he now owned him. Negan tasted like cigarettes and defeat. Carl itched to brush both off of his teeth until his gums bled.

Negan took a moment to lean back and assess Carl's reaction, mouth curling into one of his quintessential grins.

"Did I just pop your mouth cherry?" he probed.

Carl snorted. "You wish, old man."

That apparently pleased Negan enough to warrant a genuine laugh, a guffaw that sent his head back and shoulders shaking. 

"Kid, this is exactly why I married your ass. That, and your _fantastic_ ass. Now scurry on back to your room now, I've got some shit to do. The honeymoon can wait." Negan shuffled behind Carl as he was lead to the door where he entered only minutes ago as a single man. He was about to leave as a married one. 

Dwight escorted him back to the room where he had changed earlier, and left him at the doorway with not so much as a glance in his direction. Carl heard voices inside, feminine and full of energy. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, and eventually decided to knock quietly. There were light footsteps, the dull tapping of high heels on hard floor. 

A young woman answered it, red-haired and beautiful in an intimidating way. 

"Uh," Carl said. 

She smiled, all of her perfect white teeth on display. 

"No need to knock," she said. 

Carl followed her into the large room where two other women were lounging.

"You live here now. Make yourself at home, the bed over by the window is empty. Has been since Sherry left. The sheets are clean, don't worry!"

Carl nodded absently and awkwardly sat on the edge of said clean, abandoned bed. 

For a few beats, there was only silence. All three of the women stared at him unashamedly from the loveseats and couch in the center of the room, and Carl was instantly hyper-aware of his bandage. He was so used to everyone back at Alexandria politely pretending it didn't exist. 

The one sitting closest to him cleared her throat. "Your hair is nice." 

He blinked at her, unsure of how to respond. 

"I uh-thank you." Carl stumbled over his words, self-conscious in a way that made his cheeks burn.

"My name's Frankie. This is Tanya," she pointed to the one with dark hair. 

"That's Amber." Frankie gestured to the last person in the room, looking very somber. Amber had blonde hair, and for a moment the way the light hit her reminded Carl so much of Beth that his heart squeezed painfully. 

"Hey." Was all he managed. 

They didn't seem to mind that he was being short with them- he probably looked as shell-shocked as he felt. 

Frankie stood from her seat and cautiously made her way over to him. Slowly, as if he were a wild animal she was trying not to spook. He sure felt that way. 

"Listen, Carl. We know that you aren't here because you want to be. Hell, you'd be insane to choose this on your own free will. But the only way you're making it through this as a sane human being is by focusing on all the good at hand,"

She sat down next to Carl and forced him to meet her eyes. 

"You could be dead. Your friends back home could be paying for that shit you pulled. Don't get me wrong, it was actually pretty badass. Reckless and a _complete_ suicide mission, but badass. Sure, Negan is objectively awful sometimes but... He treats us well, Carl. We're safe here. He doesn't hit us, and despite all the crazy, he can be sweet sometimes. He was a normal person before this, just like all of us." 

One of the other wives snorted from across the room. He didn't look up to see which.

Carl listened with fingernails digging into his palms, trying to block out this woman rationalizing being married to a bona fide psycho. 

"Pay no mind to Amber, she's just upset that her boyfriend's face was melted off," Tanya said bluntly. 

Carl looked up to see that despite her biting tone, she had her arm around Amber's shoulder and was resting her head against the blonde's. 

"This is the lesser of two evils, and we all had our choices," Frankie concluded. 

Tanya nodded minutely. "Much better than being dead. Or ugly."

Carl wasn't so sure. 

He held his tongue; it wasn't their fault that Negan had them brainwashed into thinking he was some sort of twisted hero, saving them from the zombie apocalypse with his dick. Frankie's words seemed genuine though, and Carl was at least subdued by the fact that they weren't being abused or held captive. 

He let out a shaky breath. "Thanks,"

"I'm glad you guys have each other, at least."

Frankie rested a gentle, manicured hand on his shoulder. _"We."_

"Now let me braid that hair!" 

\--

Twenty minutes later and Carl was in the bathroom, staring at his reflection uneasily. Tanya and Frankie flanked him and Amber sat glumly on the counter, legs swinging. 

He avoided his face and subsequently the bandage, but then all he could stare at was whatever Frankie had done to his hair. 

"It looks so good!" the redhead squealed.

"Positively _badass_ ," Tanya agreed.

It was some sort of intricate braided style. He was fidgety and nervous about how much it exposed his face- all of it- but the girls had pressured him so much he was afraid to say no. He even let out a few small laughs during the process, all of them surrounding him on the spare bed, _his bed,_ and cracking jokes.

Carl fiddled with the ends of his hair and let out a sigh. 

"I look dumb," he said. 

"Badass." Tanya corrected. 

He took a few steps back and eyed it from different angles. It sure was interesting. 

After about a half hour of companionable chatter and closeness, Carl was struck by how easy it was to lose himself here. To forget where he came from, who he was. Why he had come in the first place. 

He was abruptly snapped back to reality by a rhythmic knocking at the door. 

Negan strolled through it after being beckoned in by the girls, and sashayed over to where they were gathered. His eyes immediately fell on Carl. More specifically Carl's hair. Fuck. He should've undone the braids immediately, but it looked like such the daunting task he hadn't bothered. 

Negan whistled, pleased as punch. 

"Goddamn." he started. 

"What a fine fucking group of babes I do have here. I must say, Carl, that is quite the look you've got going on. Looking like a fucking warrior princess, man!"

Carl flushed with embarrassment against his will, but managed a solid eye roll.

Every cutting insult he had flew out of his brain the second he caught sight of Negan's expression. Sure there was amusement there, he clearly lived to aggravate Carl to no end. But there was something else. Something primal- something hungry. Negan looked at Carl the way some men watch the swing of a woman's hips as she walks away. Carl looked away. 

Negan seemed unbothered and tapped Lucille innocently against the wooden bed frame. 

 

"I'm so glad you ladies had an eventful afternoon, and I hope to god you'll all be the bestest of friends from here on out. I'll sure as _shit_ be dreaming of you all braiding each other's hair and having pillow fights for the rest of my life." 

Carl saw Tanya roll her eyes as well, but more fondly than Carl had done.

"Anyways, down to business. Carl, I'm overjoyed that you have settled in here. Unsurprisingly, your absence from your _old_ home has become apparent, as we have a few visitors. They're causing quite the ruckus, so I'm gonna need you to come with me and sort this shit out. Right the fuck now."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time you leave a kudos or comment a fairy gets their wings


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the playlist has been made! it has a semi-cohesive order, so if you wanna listen then play from the beginning to end. [here it is!](https://open.spotify.com/user/wagenaar.jazmyn/playlist/6186jwe69ZWaoHeY0NnfYG?si=haf97uD4Scm7hq-WfKQu0Q)

Carl was reluctant to leave behind his newfound companions in exchange for the anarchy that would surely break loose after meeting Rick and the others outside. He stood and begrudgingly followed Negan to the door, trying to ignore the three pitiful stares he was getting from the bed. 

"Good luck, Carl." Frankie chirped.

He gave a small wave in acknowledgment before following Negan out the door and through the winding hallways. The man whistled absentmindedly and only turned to Carl to give him a wink and some needless advice.

"Just stand there and look pretty, kid. I'll do all the talkin'- explain our little agreement, and your daddy will be on his merry fucking way out in no time." 

Carl scowled, and the moment that they stepped outside he shouldered past Negan towards the rowdy group of people, who were in fact, causing quite the ruckus. Negan cracked up at Carl's pluckiness and followed, but otherwise made no move to stop him.

"Dad!" He had to shout to be heard above the commotion.

At the sound of Carl's voice, most people ceased their arguing and turned towards where he and Negan stood. Rick pushed through the crowd and let out a sigh of relief as he studied his son with trepidation.

"Are you okay, Carl? Are you hurt?" He breathed.

Carl shook his head and watched the frantic gleam in Rick's eyes disappear, morphing into something indignant.  The man turned to Negan, who up until this point had been uncharacteristically silent. 

"Let him go," Rick pleaded, jaw set and finger's twitching against his thigh. 

Negan sighed in mock exasperation, clucking his teeth. 

"I'm _very_ sorry, but no can do. You see, this little fucker decided it was a good idea to burst in here like a _goddamn_ suicide bomber in an attempt to murder me! Clearly, his efforts failed, but not before he expunged a few of my men. You've got a little serial killer in the making here, Prick. Should be goddamn proud!" Negan grinned and rested a heavy hand on Carl's shoulder, shaking it roughly. 

Rick didn't seem very surprised at his son's assassination attempt, but he did follow Negan's movements with apprehension. 

"Listen, what can we do to- how can we fix this?" Rick tried. 

The man glanced around restlessly and leveled Negan with a beseeching gaze. 

"We'll get you more guns, I promise. We'll find more stuff, just... let Carl go- please just let him come back with us." 

"Sorry Rick, but your son is my _bitch_ now. No offense kid," Negan added. 

Carl squinted at him in annoyance, but his skin prickled with embarrassment. It wouldn't be long now before his dad knew. He'd find out that Carl was just a weak kid who agreed to marry Negan in lieu of a little mutilation. He tried to catch Negan's eye, to wordlessly beg him to just leave out a few details.

Negan clearly had other plans. 

"You see, Rick, Carl had a choice. And at the end of the day, he _chose_ to be here! If he fucking wants to go home, all he's gotta do is give the say so. Mind you, if he does, we'll be having a goddamn face barbeque up in this bitch."

Rick was getting desperate. "Let him leave, and I'll stay here. _Please_ , you can keep me here instead- he's just a _kid_."

Carl had to look away. His dad's pleading and bargaining were starting to make him sick, the situation too remnant of the time that he almost lost an arm.

"Sorry Rick, but you just ain't my type." Negan lamented. He turned to Carl and playfully bumped his hip. 

Carl was going to be sick. 

"I promised Carl here till death do us part, and I am not a man who breaks my word that goddamn easily."

Rick looked utterly and completely lost. So did everyone else behind him; Michonne, Rosita, and Aaron all wore matching looks of bewilderment. 

All Rick could manage was a terse, "What?" 

Negan grasped Carl's left wrist in his calloused hand and raised it high for everyone to see. Carl struggled to hide the gruesome imitation of a wedding band, but it was no use. Everyone's eyes were drawn to it immediately. 

"We're fucking married now you imbecile!" Negan yelled, clearly delighted at the mass confusion he had caused. He laughed and waved Carl's arm around like a doll's. 

"I said to him- I said, Carl, either I burn off your face or you become my lovely bride to be. And wasn't I just fucking tickled to hear him choose me over a lifetime of being hideously scarred? Well, even more than he goddamn already is, of course."

Rick was positively seething. Carl just hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid like try to shoot Negan. 

"Dad-" he began.

Rick cut him off with a determined gaze. "We'll fix this, Carl. Don't worry son, we'll figure it out."

Negan rolled his eyes. "No need for the theatrics, Grimes. We're very happy together, isn't that right, darlin'?"

Carl tried not to recoil at the cooing tone. One glance at Lucille innocently swinging against Negan's leg told him that his answer wasn't up for debate. If he wanted everyone to be safe, for the moment all he could do was play his part. 

"Yes." He lied. 

If he was going to get out of here, everyone else trying to intervene would only hinder his efforts. He wouldn't let his dad or Michonne or anyone else get caught in the crossfire. It was Carl's decision, and up to him to deal with the consequences. 

"Just go, dad." He said firmly. _I'll figure it out._

He tried to convey everything he was thinking into one look, staring into Rick's eyes and praying that he would take the hint. The man's shoulders slumped slightly, and he nodded at Carl. _I have faith in you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its so short, but let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this chapter, its been a busy week. my birthday was the 13th, and i got my first tattoo! also watched call me by your name, and started to read it. as always let me know your thoughts.

Carl let out a shaky exhale as he sunk into the depths of his bath. Having only taken showers back at Alexandria, he felt uneasy in his leisure. Carl never quite managed to acclimate to the notion of living in a gated community, and the air of complacency that everyone there seemed to ooze. The last time he had taken a bath was before- before everything went to shit, when he was merely a child whose only misfortune was that he didn't see his dad as often as he wanted. He guessed that things hadn't really changed as much as he thought they had.

Negan had basically strong-armed him into the bath with a comment about how Carl needed to chill out, not to mention scrub off the layer of grime he had collected. Negan laughed at his unintentional pun, but the suggestion had sounded less like an offer and more like a threat. The man had insisted that Carl use Negan's bathroom. It has the best tub. _Only the goddamn best for **my** wives!_

He unceremoniously dumped half a bottle of soap under the running faucet, lit a candle, and left Carl standing in the middle of the room, completely floored by the ridiculous amount of extravagance. Unnerved by the absurdity, Carl avoided the bath and instead explored until his snooping became dull. One glance at his ragged and frankly concerning reflection prompted him to throw any reservations he had to the wind, and strip. He removed his bandage first, noting the discoloration signaling it was about time to change it. Carl would have to ask Negan for gauze, which he knew would be no small feat. He had an inkling that the man would probably just flat out deny him, forcing Carl to show off his scars all because Negan had some disturbing eye socket fetish. 

Carl shrugged off the clothes that he had been coerced into wearing to the ceremony and dipped his foot into the fragrant, bubbly water, before finally immersing himself. He felt like all his limbs were liquefying, like he was slowly melting, like soon he would cease to exist and all that'd be left would be a tepid tub of water with a sheriff's hat sitting next to it. 

He plunged his head under, squeezing shut his eye tightly so as not to get soap in it and let out all the air sitting in his lungs. Carl stayed that way for a few moments; muffling all of his senses, and in the process trying in vain to block out his entire life. He broke the surface of the water and inhaled, pushing back his drenched hair out of his face, and resting his head against the porcelain. The candle Negan lit burned a few feet away and smelled like Hawaiian Breeze.

Carl felt content in a way he hadn't in years, totally relaxed and only slightly on his guard. The chances of a walker busting in on him taking a bubble bath were slim to none, but you never did know when Negan would decide to make an appearance. He had a habit of showing up at the most inconvenient of times. The thought of Negan intruding on Carl while he was in such a defenseless and tender state had him slightly twitchy. The thought of Negan, in general, made his ears burn hot. In anger. In something else. 

Carl was trapped here, in this swaddle of vulnerability and silence, with only his thoughts to distract him from the haze of madness that usually surrounded his everyday life. He tried to think of anything _but_ Negan. He thought about back home- not Alexandria, but his real one. Back before. He thought about his childhood bedroom, how nowhere they stayed ever came close to it. He thought about his mom. The look on her face right before he killed her. He thought about every single heinous act he had seen committed- had committed himself. His thoughts were suffocating.

Instead of mulling over the deaths of everyone that he had known and loved, Carl would usually go into the woods and do anything he could to distract himself. Whether it be killing walkers, gathering supplies, or making out with Enid against some trees- it was better than being tortured by his own conscience. Carl's dad always said that he got too caught up in the past and things he couldn't change. Rick said Carl got his empathy from his mom, but sometimes he even wondered if he had any at all. If he did, how could he live with what he had done- the people he had killed? Negan clearly saw him differently. _A serial killer in the making._

Carl's inner monologue was starting to give him a headache. He focused on the way the water caressed his skin, the scent of pineapple, how the bubbles were starting to dwindle and how he could now see the long lines of his own body beneath them. He was well acquainted with bruises and scrapes, and couldn't remember a time when his pale skin was void of them. Carl blamed the bath water and how warm and secure he felt for his sudden hardness.

Carl breathed sharply through his nose and brooded over whether or not to let his arousal take over. He hadn't jerked off in a while, and even when he did there was always the threat of death looming over his head. He decided that he didn't quite feel like willing away his erection this time. He let his right hand stroke down his chest steadily, and spared a glance to the door. The risk of it being unlocked made his hand twitch. He pressed hard into the deep purple bruise he knew was on the inside of his left thigh, eyelashes fluttering and heart racing. 

Carl let his heavy head loll to the side as he continued the soft brushes against his inner thigh, trailing his hand up until he grasped himself loosely. His skin was prickling in arousal- in fear. A little bit of shame. Mostly arousal. He touched himself hastily then, eager to finish and eager to get out of Negan's quarters. 

His breath hitched and his hand squeezed involuntarily at the thought of Negan. He hadn't meant for the man's name to cross his mind, and he willed himself once again to think of anything _but._ He didn't falter in his movements again, instead, he concentrated on the fuzzy images of women that his mind created. Soft curves, not hard angles. He pictured smooth skin and long hair- but every time he imagined a dainty wrist or shapely ass, there were rough hands gripping it. Strong tanned forearms, inked and marred with white scars. 

Carl bit harshly at his lip and forced himself to continue, wouldn't quit just because his brain was being invaded by intrusive glimpses of someone he had accidentally let cross his mind. He didn't think about how he knew what stubble against his cheeks felt like. Definitely not how the beard burn would feel against the thin, sensitive skin of his thighs. He didn't make a sound except for his unsteady breathing, and the quiet displacement of water around his hips. 

When Carl finally came, it wasn't to the thought of a provocative grin and square jawline- and definitely not to the thought of what the calloused hands capable of such cruelty would feel like holding him in place, squeezing him where his waist curved into hips. 

Definitely not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... im the worst. so sorry for the tremendous delay. existing really caught up with me there for a sec. your comments literally brought me back to life and gave me the motivation to write this chapter so im eternally thankful!  
>  im finding it extremely difficult to type with fake nails tho so pls lmk if theres any typos.

Carl soaked in the tub until the water had turned cold, the bubbles long since subsided. His fingers, toes, and pride were all significantly pruned. He was without a doubt, filled with instant regret and revulsion.

What kind of sick bastard gets off to the thought of a nutcase like Negan? Was this some form of accelerated Stockholm Syndrome? He was a statue for a while after the water had drained, limbs sticking to the cool porcelain. 

Eventually, he stepped out onto the bathroom floor, leaving only his dignity behind. He tried to occupy his traitorous brain by searching the room for a towel, to no avail. Carl snorted. Of course the bastard wouldn't be that considerate. He begrudgingly let himself air dry, shrugged on his borrowed clothes, and left his long hair dripping down his back and shoulders. 

Carl had to stop himself from jogging through Negan's room to the exit like he was a child running up the basement stairs after turning off the lights. He knew that the man wouldn't be there; he had bid Carl goodbye with a vague explanation of his plan to bust some balls. He was probably delivering another one of his lectures about consequences.

Still, part of him expected the man to spin around in his leather office chair with an ' _I've been expecting you._ _Also, I heard you jerking it in my bathtub. You're goddamn filthy_ _, kid.'_

Irrational as it may have been, Carl really would not put it past Negan; the man clearly lived for theatrics.

The room was empty, and Carl left at quite a leisurely pace. His fears were entirely justifiable, but he didn't let himself become a paranoid loser because of them.

Negan hadn't given him any instruction of what to do after the bath, so Carl took that as an opportunity to head back to his shared room, maybe get mind-numbingly drunk, and pass the fuck out. 

His plans were thwarted by one of Negan's greasy bottom feeders rounding the corner and skulking towards him. Carl did his damnedest to ignore the cretin, but the man's leering eventually became too unsettling. Maybe it was the fact his scar was out for all the world to gawk at. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had just left Negan's quarters, dripping wet.

Whatever the creep's problem was, Carl snapped.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

The man gave him a slimy grin. "How're the knees, boy?"

For a second the question seemed a little ludicrous to Carl.

His bewildered expression dropped at the tongue in cheek gesture he got in return. 

"Fuck off." Carl spat. He tried to shove past the man, but jerked back in shock at the feeling of a sweaty hand around his bicep.

"No way the boss is lettin' one of his bitches get away with not putting out." The man shook his head and gave a dubious chuckle.

He leaned in too close, his hot breath rank against Carl's cheek. "Tell me- when he fucks you every night, do you-"

Carl cut off the end of that question by ramming his bony knee right up into the man's groin.

"Eat shit," Carl said.

He broke free from the man's clammy grasp while he was trying to catch his breath, sneering down at him in disgust. 

"And preferably die, as well."

Carl continued walking back to his room with only a vague sense of rage and indignancy, mostly he was just exhausted and ready for bed. He only made it about 15 seconds before he heard a quiet _click_ behind him.

"Hands on the wall. And keep your pretty mouth shut." 

Carl hesitated but didn't argue. A man with wounded pride was one of the most dangerous things in the world.

He did what he was told- hands on the wall, head hanging low and lips sealed. He sighed through his nose and prayed that the man was as scrawny as he looked, that Carl would be able to overpower him, if only for just a second to escape.

He could sense the man standing behind him, and tried really hard not to think about what he was staring at. He approached at a leisurely pace, a low, satisfied whistle leaving him. Carl clenched his eye shut, wishing an opening to crack his head back against the man's skull would hurry up and appear.

There was a hot, sweaty hand on his waist, but when he tried to shake it off the feeling of cool metal digging into the base of his skull stopped him. Carl's heartbeat was rabbit quick, his own palms damp with fear. He wouldn't beg. He'd catch the creep off guard, preferably when the threat of a bullet wasn't looming right against his spine.

The hand slid around his hips to his stomach, slipping under his shirt to rub against his skin. Carl tried not to retch, grit his teeth so tight he feared they would crack. 

"Soft," the man cooed, trailing his hand lower and toying with the waistband of Carl's sweatpants. His nails were jagged, breath loud and disgusting. 

Carl was a crying kid again, being shoved in the dirt and violated by a scumbag he couldn't fight off. He couldn't catch his breath, could only think a desperate stream of  _get off, get off, get off, get off-_

" _Get the fuck off me!_ " He managed to twist around partially, enough to dislodge the pressure from the back of his neck and spit in the man's face.

The gun brutally striking against Carl's cheek sent him reeling, vision blurry and thick blood hanging from his bottom lip. 

"Fucker," he spluttered, trying to catch his balance and not crumple to the floor from the ringing in his left ear. His cheek was on fire, and he wouldn't be surprised if the bone had shattered completely. 

"Do you want me to kill you, boy? Cause from where I'm standin' it looks like you've got a death wish."

"I would rather die than let you touch me, creep." Carl slurred.

"Well, I could always try both options. I'll even let you choose which one I do first."

Carl's stomach was turning so much he was sure that he'd spew vomit right onto the man's dirty boots. He let himself collapse to the ground, head lolling back against the wall in defeat. 

"Kill me first," he spat. 

"Shoot me in the heart or something, so I can come back to rip out your neck with my fucking teeth." 

The man only laughed, pressing the gun right against Carl's empty eye socket. 

"Not a chance, boy."

Carl squeezed his good eye shut, mostly pissed off that this was the way he was gonna end up going- at the hands of some nasty pervert instead of with any shred of dignity. 

"Now what in the fresh _fuckery_ is going on _here_?"

The gun against his face dropped in shock. Carl laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like father like son?  
> if you enjoyed let me know, and thank you to everyone so far that has been commenting and keeping me motivated!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shamefully slinks back into your lives........ my bad for the wait.

Carl's swollen cheek had forced his good eye mostly shut, rendering him almost blind in addition to a throbbing face and splitting headache.

He could only listen as the man's pained grunts and cries mixed with Negan's laboured breathing. Eventually, there was only a gruesome and telling silence.

"You finish him off?" Carl asked. His face was tilted towards the ceiling, but the only thing he could make out was a sliver of fluorescent light.

"Yep," Negan said plainly.

"His head's nice and mushy, wanna look?"

Carl exhaled slowly. "Can't open my eye- but otherwise I would, yeah."

There was a beat of silence before-

"Thanks."

A dull thud in response, like Negan had kicked the dead body on the way over to where Carl sat disoriented and sightless.

Carl was too shaken by the resurgence of his traumatic childhood memories to fill the silence with anything but his own shallow breathing. He waited until Negan nudged him gently in the boot before attempting to stand, and only swayed somewhat. He felt unbearably unsteady.

"You look like hell, kid."

_I feel like someone stepped on my face, Carl thought, I think I have PTSD. It hurts so fucking bad. I can't see, I don't want to cry in front of you. Leave me alone-_

"Sounds about right," he admitted.

"Gettin' pistol-whipped will do that to you, I suppose," Negan said.

"You want- uh, should I get the doc down here?" He sounded uncharacteristically unsure, fumbling over his words and forgoing his usual booming register for something less, something placating.

It made Carl feel like a child. Like a wounded animal that Negan found on the side of the road, too far gone to help.

"No," he snapped, sliding his hand along the cold concrete wall.

"I'm going back to my room. I'll be fine."

Negan watched Carl slowly, painstakingly trudge down the hall for almost 30 seconds before he put him out of his misery.

————————

"I left you the fuck alone for- what? An hour? To have a fucking relaxing ass bubble bath. And there I find you- at the wrong end of a gun. I am too goddamn _old_ for this much worrying. Light of my life, fire of my loins-"

"For the love of god, please-"

"My sin, my soul!"

"What the fuck are you even saying right now?"

Carl didn't know who was more exasperated at this point. Negan; for the apparent emotional trauma caused by finding Carl in such a ghastly position, or himself; for having to deal with the man's relentless thespian prose.

Carl had made the executive decision that he did not, in fact, need to visit the doctor. Partially because it was the middle of the night, and he would have felt shitty about waking somebody up for a gnarly black eye. It may have been the end of civilization as they knew it, but that didn't mean manners needed to become obsolete as well.

Carl had also hoped that his choice to forgo a trip to the doctor would cut his time with Negan short. The faster he could get behind closed doors and away from the bat swinging, rapist killing, lamenting lunatic- the better. Especially because he was still distraught over his bathtub fantasies involving said lunatic-which, while not his finest moment, he was willing to overlook and blame on an unparalleled amount of stress.

Upon hearing Carl's professional opinion about his cheek being most definitely just bruised, and totally not shattered beyond repair, Negan was skeptical. Not enough to warrant waking the doc up, but just enough to demand the boy stayed supervised for at least a few hours.

The short trip back to Negan's room took an ungodly amount of time due to Carl's sudden near blindness and total reluctance to stay under the man's thumb. They made it with only a few hostile attempts on Negan's life, and a minimal amount of bodily aggression.

The walk wasn't without conversation though. Carl was forced into the most irritating banter to ever exist, as he was incapable of letting Negan have the last word. It consisted of the man grousing about Carl's brush with death, Carl saying that he _fucking wished he had been murdered so he wouldn't have to listen to Negan's bitching_ , Negan making obscure literary references that went over Carl's head completely because _hello_ \- elementary school dropout. There is no way Carl's mother would have read him Lolita in her efforts at homeschooling.

The hostile back and forth carried on until the moment they crossed the threshold into Negan's bedroom.

Carl's swollen eye offered only a slice of the room to be observed, but the bed was in plain sight. He slumped onto it, dirty boots and all, out of pure spite.

The movement jostled his brain into a bout of agony. He ignored it in favour of keeping his air of apathy intact.

Negan shuffled around the room in silence as Carl reluctantly let himself be babysat. Surely the other wives could have sufficiently watched over him in the comfort of his own room, free of incessant arguing- but he knew better than to question Negan's motives. His reasoning had more holes than Carl could count.

He was just about to fall into that sweet spot between awake and asleep when Negan's voice annihilated any peace it had to offer.

"Shit, kid. You bleeding from your brain or something?"

There was a faint rustling and shift of weight on the bed. Carl groaned and forced his crusty eye as far open as he could.

  
"What?" He snapped. He could see a little better now. Negan's concerned mug was way too close to his face.

He watched as an unsanctioned hand got closer and closer to him until it brushed gently above his top lip.

  
He shrank back and groaned.

Negan's thumb came away smeared red.

"Nosebleed," Negan said.

"Shit. Tilt your head forward or the blood will pool in your brain, and it'll fuckin' explode."

"That's a myth, you ass." Carl snarked, wiping his wrist haphazardly across his nose, leaving a streak of stained skin in its wake.

It was something stupid his father would've said in the past, only sans a few expletives.

Negan didn't leave the bed, staring at what Carl assumed was his own busted ass face for what felt like hours.

"You need anything? Water- Advil, a- uh, fucking blankie or something?"

Carl had gotten relatively decent at ignoring the Negan's blatant taunts.

His concerns would be touching if they weren't so utterly irritating. The man held a grip on Carl's exposed ankle, calloused fingers just- holding. The contact made his teeth clench and his sore face burn.

Carl needed a lot of things, felt a lot of things. He needed peace and quiet, some heavy duty painkillers, his mom, his dignity, autonomy. He was overwhelmed. Hurt and anxious. Mostly, he was hungry.

"Got any pudding in this shit hole?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. i know i was gone for months after promising not to abandon this. but? here we are. im sorry its short and bad but im rusty. let me know your thoughts, as always.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst and I abandoned my child. This is all I could muster up as proof I'm still living and trying. A small scene from Negan's POV while I try to crawl out of my writers block/depression spiral. lmk what you think.

It took damn near half an hour of rummaging, but eventually, Negan found the only thing that Carl had asked for. Bedridden and half-conscious, probably fucking loopy as hell. Goddamn chocolate pudding. Negan mixed that shit up, grabbed a spoon, and went back to his boy with a spring in his step. 

"Ask and you shall fucking receive, kid." 

Not only was Carl still awake- an impressive feat all on its own- but upright, sheriff's hat on, ass on the bed but feet firmly planted on the concrete.

"I'm going back to my room now," he said, breathing shallowly. It looked like he had been trying to get up from that spot for quite some time. There was a sheen of sweat on his bruised face- like the simple exertion of sitting was too much for his little head to handle. 

"Despite how damn endearing your stubbornness is, I must say that doesn't look very reasonable," Negan began. 

"Besides, I _just_ got back from the pudding witch hunt you sent me on. Can't walk out on me now! Hell, I highly doubt you can walk out at _all_ , Carl. I should've taken your ass to Carson- you're acting all concussed and shit." 

Negan tried his best to keep his tone away from demanding. He fucking knew that telling the kid what to do under any circumstances would guarantee the opposite of his required result. Looking at him now, his expression pained but adamant, shadowed under the brim of Rick the Prick's stupid goddamn hat, wrenched at something deep and ugly within Negan. 

He placed the bowl in one of Carl's hands, the spoon in another, and gave him one of his best steely gazes. The _don't fuck with me if you wanna leave with all your parts in working order_ kind of looks. It was one of his special skills, right under head crushing on his resume.

"Eat it, Carl."

There were a few moments of _will he wont he_ tension of the pudding acceptance variety. Eventually, he caved. Obviously too fucked up in the noggin to act tough for another second longer. Negan could've sworn he even heard a muffled _that's what she said_ and the ghost of a smile on Carl's ugly mug. Could have been a grimace- hell, odds are it was a grimace- but the man was an optimist, if nothing else. 


End file.
